


Facsimile Lover

by kimbleefucker (hihowareya)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihowareya/pseuds/kimbleefucker
Summary: Kimblee wouldn't lie to him, only withold information. If he would at least lie, then Mustang would move on. But he doesn't. He tells the truth, and simply refuses to answer more than one question at a time- the only lying he'll do is on his back complacently while Roy channels his anguish into his prison-riddled body.
Relationships: Zolf J. Kimblee/Roy Mustang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Facsimile Lover

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some sloppy royblee pseudo angst bla bla

It isn't a bother all the time, only when it's soft or forgiving. Roy finds the task of sex tedious but a necessity; he indulges himself anyway- he could find no better way to escape now. What was once a way out in Ishval was now a reclusive exit in his own home, from his own mind. 

His back on the headboard was tense as he read the news paper, announcing an exclusive interview with some government elite handpicked by Bradley himself. Spots filling in. 

"You wouldn't have been a candidate for that. The plans they have for you are... way different." In agitation he shuffled the pages aside, glared at the man lying next to him, all innocent smiles.

"I wouldn't have accepted a position like that anyway." He brought the paper back up to shield Kimblee from his line of vision. Plenty of secrets, answers Roy wanted to know were hidden in Kimblee's icy gray eyes- and Kimblee would never tell exactly what Roy wanted. It bothered him. 

Kimblee wouldn't lie to him, only withold information. If he would at least lie, then Mustang would move on. But he doesn't. He tells the truth, and simply refuses to answer more than one question at a time- the only lying he'll do is on his back complacently while Roy channels his anguish into his prison-riddled body. 

He could threaten him, even kill him, but he'd never get any answers. Instead he'd trade, intimacy for vague responses. He was dealing in his Aunt's wares now, but even if he got no new information from it... he'd still make the call. Bury his self pity and regrets in someone else's body for a while, someone who didn't deserve his sympathy.

The Colonel felt the shift in weight and peered over his paper curiously, looking at the Crimson Lotus alchemist who had rolled onto a belly-up position, looking at him with mild interest; his pupils seemed to pulsate, enlarge and shrink just slightly like he was taking in every movement he perceived, or maybe it ways Roy's imagination. He had half a mind to reach out and grab him, but he knew better. A cat's show of submission was a ruse. If he even dared even a single playful stroke, he'd likely get bit. 

"Is that all?" Kimblee's expression quickly slid into apathy. "I have responsibilities, too. Do you want me to leave?" He could just say 'I'm leaving' but still chose to phrase it as a question, as if Roy was the one in power. His bedroom floor was still littered with blue and white, uniform and civilian clothes unceremoniously tossed the evening prior. If he allowed him, in only minutes it would be cleaned up and he'd be alone in that room again, Kimblee long gone without a second thought. But there was a part of him that was still resisting that loneliness.

"What business could you possibly have, you were in prison for years." He shot a glare that Kimblee was unaffected by as he readjusted the paper.

"Is that your way of asking me to stay?" Kimblee was especially lacking in coyness today. His fingers traced the bottom edge of Roy's paper and pushed it up to peer at him from beneath it. 

There was no grace in his command, no romance. A blunt order.

"When I finish reading this," he pulled the paper away again as if to block Kimblee in a futile act of relinquished object permanence, he ceased to exist here when Roy could not see him "that's when I'm going to fuck you again. Just get ready on your own." 

"Oh, yes _sir_." Kimblee's tone was slick with facetiousness, but not as slick as his slender hands after he'd dug around Roy's dresser for whatever lubricant he'd tossed there a few hours ago, coating his fingers in viscosity not unlike the relationship between them. If it had been sooner he wouldn't have bothered, but after taking a nap following Roy's first quasi-assault, it was better to just do as he said. 

The rest of the contents of the news could not stick itself to Roy's brain as he was distracted by adding mental images to whatever he strained to hear- whatever he felt squirming against him. He waited until it seemed to be his turn, and clumsily threw the paper to the ground to mount his facsimile lover. 

A delighted hiss that grew to whine filled Mustang's ears as he sunk his teeth into the junction of Kimblee's neck and shoulder, the scar on his stomach from Lust's attack seemed to align perfectly with the one Kimblee acquired from Scar, as Roy's chest pressed down into the other alchemist's back. He wrapped his arms around the other's narrow waist, holding him tightly. Clinging desperately. Despite his contempt Roy wanted to stay this way, to never let go. To never lose someone who looked at him with genuine interest ever again. Holding a warm body in his arms, against his own, felt like more than he deserved. 

It wasn't romantic, but it wasn't without passion either. Sometimes Kimblee would chastise him, sometimes he would tease him, but not today. Today Roy could listen to those noises forever, alchemize them to his brain to replay when he felt useless and alone; sounds that weren't of anguish, but that were brought about by him.   
All too soon, it was over. Once again he put all his negativity, his loneliness, his anger his sadness his self loathing, into every thrust until it spilled into anothers body; and he could trust Kimblee had no need for this and would do away with it. After all, Roy was only using him for that purpose wasn't he? But even he knew Kimblee would recycle these into words to rail at him next time. He soon followed, his lithe form tensing in Roy's arms then falling to dead weight. 

And in a few minutes, Roy would pull out and lay back again, zone out for a time until Kimblee pulled him from his empty thoughts. 

"Is that all?" 

When there was no answer, he forcefully half-climbed over the Flame Alchemists body, sitting on Roy's lap in his direct sight. If he hadn't been trying to dissociate, Roy might have thought it was an opportunity for a third round. But now, it was a nuisance. 

"What do you want from me, Solf."

"Don't waste my time, _Roy_." He echoed the given name. "What do you want from _me_?" He had answers to give, Roy only need ask the right questions. But he never did. He never asked for things Kimblee would willingly answer, could easily divulge. 

"Who killed Maes Hughes?" He didn't even look at Kimblee when he asked, his eyes glazed over and stared at something that wasn't quite there. Kimblee's expression slid from apathy to something not quite annoyed, but almost.

"Only last week you asked me if I knew who'd done it and I said no. What makes you think that I could now provide you with a full name?" Always with this, with Hughes. At first Kimblee felt something that was probably sympathy. Roy's loss of his best friend, of Kimblee's own fellow soldier, was a shame. Hughes was a good man, after all. 

But Roy was obsessive, never wanting anything else. Only asking the same questions Kimblee had no answers for.

"I don't know. That information is kept... on a need to know basis. I know that he was killed, it isn't relevant to me by whom." 

Roy's disappointed expression was pitiful. But he ought to know this is nothing he could find here. Silence overtook the small room for a time, the kind that felt tense and uncertain.

"Do you actually want information from me, or is it my company you're so desperate for?" Solf placed his hands on either side of his esteemed peer, the same way he'd placed his hands on the hot sand of Ishval: firm and with purpose. "I really don't mind either way. But you should be honest with me. At least be honest with yourself." 

It was a genuine question, one Roy didn't know the answer to. He knew Kimblee would never give him the answers he wanted. But why keep calling on him? The short answer was easy 'I can fuck you and not feel bad about using you for my pent up feelings'. Kimblee knew this, Roy knew this. The plucking secondary twang was a question of affection; at once Roy felt two distinct emotions: "I hate you" and "don't leave me". 

"I don't know." He finally answered.

"You don't know?" Kimblee echoed. "Such frivolity!" His tone was playful, and then ceased. He leaned over Roy, enough that Mustang thought he might be kissed. 

"Am I asking you questions you don't know the answer to? You have much deeper issues than that. You're looking for solutions to all your problems in me... literally." 

He pressed his forehead against Roy's, there was nowhere Roy could look except for into his cold eyes, holding him in place, sharp and piercing and ready to dissect him at any given moment.

"You won't find them here."


End file.
